Obscurum
by NovaObscurum
Summary: The world is a harsh and desolate place, if your lucky enough to have a flicker of happiness in your life it never lasts long, something will come, something will destroy the fantasy which you have surrounded your self with. You can never rest, never let your self relax, never release your vigil, because it will come...


**Obscurum**

_The world is a harsh and desolate place, if your lucky enough to have a flicker of happiness in your life it never lasts long, something will come, something will destroy the fantasy which you have surrounded your self with. You can never rest, never let your self relax, never release your vigil, because it will come..._

The Texan summer was waning, storm season looming on the horizon. The last grasping tendrils of the sun disappearing below the horizon, its rays bleeding desperately into the sky. The day had been a long one, it showed. The road, no more that a trampled dusty path surrounded by more dust. Deep wheel ruts cut like scars into the dry earth, footprints, horse tracks, it had been a long day indeed. The former pilgrims of this beaten path were safe, as safe as they could be at least, housed in the remains of a broken town. Of the original 43 women and children 36 had survived, it was the risk they took, better 7 than all of them should they have remained in their homes.

One lone traveller stayed his place on the scarred road. His horse was weary, as were he, but duty must come first, as always, as it always would. His double breasted tunic, once cadet grey, was yellowed with dust, the creased from his seated position were all you could use to tell the original colour. Two rows of dulled buttons marked him as an officer, in each row seven which once gleamed golden, the eagles shining proudly. His arms, rested against his thighs which were covered in the nondescript blue trousers, hands loosely holding the reins of his mount, were covered with the distinct braiding that left in no doubt his staff rank. It was originally gold, like the buttons, but had been dulled with age and dust, an intricate knot, double braided for his rank, below which was cuff of royal blue with three buttons. His collar, under which peaked a black cravat, was the real mark of distinction, the single star, the rank of a Major. He was, in fact, the youngest Major to grace the ranks of the confederate army. Conscripted, as were many, much younger than allowed, he'd risen through dedication and luck to his present rank at 20 years of age. His head was covered by a cowboy hat, not arm regulation, but something to remind him where he came from, who he was. Dusty blond hair peaked from around the edges, gently swaying as he rode. Strapped at his side was a sword tied with gold braiding and it jolted in time with his horses trot. He was the picture of a young army officer. His determination to do well showing through his dedication to make his way back to Galveston for further orders. His back straight, he encouraged the horse into a gallop, moving as one with the stallion below him.

A Texan, a cowboy at heart this is what he loved, riding. The pair moved swiftly over the rutted ground kicking up dust in the fading light. As twilight settled in, sharp eyes caught movement ahead. Instinct had him reaching for his Springfield, but on closer observation the moment became three woman, but the unsettling feeling did not subside. Slowing, he moved cautiously towards them.

They were not usual in dress of a Southern woman, being much to revealing in appearance, their breast plainly on show, no over coat, corsets and underskirts on show. He averted his eyes on approach. They were three, obviously Mexican in descent. Two of the three had darkened hair, the other blond. They seemed to be waiting for him, beckoning him towards them, calling him into the darkness.

"Ladies, can I be of assistance." Eyes resolutely trained of their faces he noticed a flicker of a smirk.

"Why yes, what is your name.." she peered at him, "Major?" It had been the darkest haired of the three that had spoken, her voice soft and sultry, eyes shadowed by thick lashes, rose lips forming into a small pout.

"Major Jasper Whitlock ma'am." She smiled, it was sinister.

"My sister here, Lucy, has injured her ankle, we were trying to make it to the next town. Could you, perchance, help us?" It was only then that he had noticed that the blond, Lucy, was leaning heavily against the other girl. Dismissing his feeling of dread, he dismounted and moved towards the three woman. He was nothing if not a gentle men, he would not leave these woman here alone.

"Of course, I've just come from there, it would be my honer."

It was sudden, he was no more than two meters away when the darkest was by his side, his arm trapped, head being tilted to the side. She ripped open his collar, sinking her teeth into his neck before the buttons had hit the ground. His heart was beating rapidly, his thoughts muddled as the fire began to spread.

"I hope you survive Jasper..." Last words whispered into his ear by his attacker before the flamed dragged him into the darkness, his screamed cutting through the twilight air.


End file.
